I feel it before he says it.
“Cortez,” Coach barks. “You’re in.”
My heart explodes.
This is it.
This is the moment.
I rip off my warmup and sprint onto the court.
The girls avoid eye contact.
Except one.
Harper.
Senior. Melody’s best friend.
She stares at me like I just spit on the school crest.
We rotate.
It’s our serve.
Crowd roaring.
I can feelMamásomewhere up there in the cheap seats, hands clasped like she’s praying.
I take my position.
Harper steps to the back line with the ball.
She doesn’t look at the net.
She looks at me.
For half a second I think?—
No.
She wouldn’t.
Whistle blows.
She tosses.
Swings.
Not toward the opposing court.
Toward me.
Boom.
The ball slams into the back of my head.
White flash.
